


I'll Share Your Pain With You

by spoowriterfic



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoowriterfic/pseuds/spoowriterfic
Summary: Nicole's bad moments are becoming fewer and farther between the longer everyone has been back, but that doesn't mean they're gone entirely.Set a few days after the end of 406, Nicole has a bad afternoon, but this time Waverly's there -- for her, and with her.
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 8
Kudos: 172





	I'll Share Your Pain With You

**Author's Note:**

> You can read this as kind of a third installment of my two-story series "Pain That's Shared" and "Pain That's Halved" (and I stole this title from the same song I stole the title for those two stories as well), but I didn't make it explicitly part of the series because those were written before S4 aired and were entirely speculation.
> 
> From "Promise," a filk song written by Mercedes Lackey (before, I'd water, a good chunk of you all were even born)
> 
> "Beyond all heartaches comes heart's ease, I swear that this is true  
> And if you put your trust in me, I'll share your pain with you.  
> I'll drink the cup down to the lees though bitter it may be,  
> For pain that's shared is pain that's halved, so share your pain with me.  
> . . .  
> Your spirit has been wounded, love; I'll help to make it mend  
> Though all the hours of pain and tears, I'll give you strength and will  
> For heart to heart and hand to hand I'll stand beside you still"

Sometimes the trigger was obvious, though the effects hadn’t always been so…dramatic.

Damp wood in the sun.

That got the six-year-old in her every time.

A frisson of tension up her spine, an involuntary sniff as she searched for smoke that wasn’t there.

Sometimes they were less obvious.

A pile of stones in the woods that could, from the corner of the eye, look like stairs.

A thump out by one of the traps.

Heavy steps on the porch.

Sometimes it was even just the word _garden_.

Or a phrase – _up the stairs_ , or _eighteen months_ , or even _on the Homestead_.

And, most times, they would pass by completely unnoticed.

True, sometimes they would make her shiver or glance over to make sure Waverly was still there. And sometimes they even made her reach out to curl her fingers around Waverly’s hand to be sure she was _there_ and not another cruel dream that started in a reunion and ended…

…badly.

But sometimes….

Sometimes, if they hit just right – when she was stressed, or tired, or already lost in her head, or even just for no obvious reason at all – the world would darken at the edges, sounds would distort like a video with its audio out of sync, and she’d have to blank it all out because the wave of grief and loss and loneliness and guilt and self-hatred and failure and defeat was so totally overwhelming that the only way to escape it was to shut it all down.

Sometimes it was a conscious decision.

Sometimes less so.

And sometimes she didn’t realize it had even happened until Rachel was yelling at her and shaking her arm and she’d come back to not only the crushing agony of reality but also the weight of responsibility for this lonely, hurt, damaged, amazing, resilient kid. A kid who’d lived in a zombie-infested hellhole for months in the vague hope of finding her mom. A kid who understood loyalty in the same way she did – as an honor and a vow and a burden all at the same time.

And at least for a while, the duty of care would crowd out the rest of it just like the time she’d sneezed and bitten her tongue so badly that her still-healing leg had stopped aching, if only for a few minutes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rachel’s voice was unusually tentative as she knocked on the bedroom door and poked her head in with a worried frown.

“Waverly?”

“Hmm?” she murmured, putting down the book she had been reading – or, trying to, while distracted by an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Then she noticed Rachel’s anxious look and turned her back on the window, which was propped partly open to let in the first scents of spring. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…I mean, she’s _okay_ , technically, but this was starting to happen a lot just before you came back and I don’t really know what to do about it and – ”

There was no question that _she_ meant _Nicole_.

Waverly hurried across her room to stand in front of her…adopted niece?...almost daughter? She still wasn’t _quite_ sure what Rachel was to her, though she had obviously become family to Nicole – and though she was endlessly grateful that Nicole hadn’t been _completely_ alone for eighteen months, there was a tiny part of her that was a little…

…jealous?

Envious, maybe.

Not so much of Rachel the person as of the eighteen months she’d spent with Nicole – eighteen months that the universe had seen fit to steal from the two of them. Eighteen months of their lives together that they would never get back.

But none of that mattered now that she could put a name to the feeling in the pit of her stomach – and it certainly wasn’t Rachel’s fault, anyway. “Rachel,” she said soothingly, “slow down. What’s wrong with Nicole?”

“I – I don’t – I looked it up and I think it’s called dissociating? She’s…just sitting on the chair in the living room staring at nothing. She’s not…answering me or looking at me or…even really _here_.”

Waverly sighed.

She’d read everything she could get her hands on about trauma and PTSD as soon as she was old enough to really understand what was going on with Wynonna – what had happened to her, how she had (or had not) dealt with it, and how it had shaped the person she’d become.

She’d been searching, even then, for a way to help her sister.

And, maybe, to try to find a way to rationalize all the choices Wynonna made as she grew up.

To understand why Wynonna had left.

She hadn’t really expected to need that research again – which, she realized, was naïve, given the whirlwind of chaos that was life as an Earp (or even Earp-adjacent).

She glanced at Rachel. “Can you, um, wait on the porch? Run interference so we’re not interrupted?”

Though Nicole was no longer constantly hair-triggered the way she had been when they first came back, Waverly still saw her jump at sudden noises several times a day, and if she was already struggling, any additional surprises wouldn’t help matters at all.

She didn’t expect Rachel’s shoulders to slump, just slightly, in quickly-hidden disappointment. But one look in her eyes explained it. It touched something deep in Waverly’s memories – the part of her that was still the little girl who desperately wanted the love and affection of her father, or to be part of the tight bond she saw her sisters share while she watched from the outside.

“Oh,” Rachel said. “I, um…I was hoping I could…I mean that you could show me what to do? In case it happens again when – I mean if – ”

“Rachel,” Waverly said, gently taking hold of the girl’s arm, “I’m not leaving again. Okay? She’s not gonna be alone again.”

“You can’t promise that.”

That hit Waverly hard.

_Could_ she promise that?

Could she _promise_ that the next time some supernatural architecture decided to kidnap her that she’d fight hard enough against it to get free?

The answer came easier than she would have expected.

_If you don’t release Nicole, she’ll die! _

_You’re young. You’ll find someone else._

_I’d rather die._

“Rachel,” she said, once more, looking her teenaged some-type-of-family in the eye, “I promise. She won’t be alone again. Let me help her this time. If it happens again…then we’ll talk. Okay?”

Rachel rolled her eyes and huffed in mock annoyance, but nodded, though reluctantly. “You know I won’t be able to stop Wynonna from coming inside.”

“No one could,” Waverly said with a smile.

They started downstairs. “We had a birthday party for you, you know?” Rachel said as they neared the landing. “We tried to make vegan cupcakes but we couldn’t get half the ingredients so they came out more like vegan pancakes with runny…frosting-syrup. She thinks I didn’t notice she was crying.”

Waverly stopped her with a hand on her arm, recognizing the story for what it was: Rachel felt like she had to justify her worth, like she was worried that somehow she’d lose the stability she’d found here with Nicole, even under such horrible circumstances, now that most everyone was back and they were all edging out of their various holding patterns. “She never wants anyone to see her cry. Not even me. But I’m glad you were here, Rachel. I’m glad she wasn’t alone.”

Rachel glanced towards the living room, then back at Waverly. “Yes, she was.” She shrugged. “You weren’t here.”

There wasn’t much she could say to that, was there?

She still, sometimes, wondered if somehow she hadn’t known – hadn’t sensed – the amount of time that had been passing in Purgatory.

Because she remembered waking up to a desperate, instinctive need to find Nicole – a need so intense and so overwhelming that it genuinely hadn’t even crossed her mind to wonder where Wynonna and Doc were. She remembered the frozen second of relief the moment she set eyes on Nicole, and she _remembered_ crashing into her at full speed, drawn either by some subconscious understanding of how long they had really been apart or by the desperation in Nicole’s eyes.

Desperation that _should_ have confused her, if she hadn’t known somehow.

_I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy…so why do I feel like bawling?_

The only conclusion, really, was that she’d known. Somehow.

With a sad smile, Waverly gave Rachel one last squeeze on the arm. “Well. Now _none_ of us are alone in the important ways,” she said, nodding when she saw Rachel relax a little as she picked up on the meaning of Waverly’s words. “Now go on. At least keep Doc and Jeremy busy outside, yeah? And…you know, at least _try_ to stall Wynonna?”

Rachel shook her head dubiously, but headed for the front porch nonetheless.

Waverly took a deep breath and headed into the living room.

She found Nicole sitting one of the arm chairs facing the fireplace, eyes wide open and unblinking, her hands resting, unmoving, on her thighs.

She glanced around, looking to see if she could locate any obvious triggers for Nicole’s state and couldn’t find any. She had only seen Nicole like this once before, and it had passed so quickly that she hadn’t even had to do anything to help her snap out of it.

She also noticed, but pretended not to, Rachel easing the front door closed and creeping back through the house to watch from just beside the doorframe.

“Hey, sweetie pie,” she said, deliberately light as she crossed the room. “It’s me.” She took a moment to remember the last time she’d said that to her fiancée, who at the time had been inside a very-recently-dead frog she’d just vomited into a bucket.

It had been awful then, but with the horror of it fading away by virtue of the whole thing _working_ , she was able to appreciate the absurdity of it.

At least some of the time. After all, given the general chaos of their lives, the ability to find a little gallows humor here and there was an essential survival skill.

But if Nicole remembered that moment, she showed no signs of it – nor even of having heard her at all.

“I’m gonna bring this other chair over so I can sit in front of you, okay?” she added. “You might hear it moving around but it’s just me. I promise you’re safe. You can come back any time you’re ready.”

No answer, but then she hadn’t really expected one.

She dragged the other chair so she was face-to-face with Nicole, whose eyes stared past her, unseeing.

“I’m gonna put my hands on your knees, okay?” she said. “I’m gonna use our code. Remember? The one we use when we can’t _say_ the safe word?”

Somewhere, she swore, she heard Wynonna choke on nothing.

There was nothing, not even a flinch, when she put her hands firmly on Nicole’s knees and squeezed tightly in the pattern they’d invented a while back – just four squeezes: short, long, long, short.

Waverly had asked why Nicole hadn’t used _that_ code to identify herself in ghostly form, and Nicole – sweet, always thoughtful Nicole – had said she wasn’t sure Waverly wanted their friends to have _that_ level of information about their sex life.

Waverly was careful to squeeze firmly and tightly; Nicole hated being tickled and in general preferred firm touch to light touches. Especially in this situation, Waverly wanted to make sure she didn’t chase her further into her own head by accidentally tickling her.

Nothing.

But Waverly didn’t let that deter her.

She waited for a few minutes, squeezing Nicole’s knees every thirty seconds or so.

Short, long, long, short.

Short, long, long, short.

She didn’t say much, leery of accidentally stepping on another trigger and sending Nicole further into herself.

Short, long, long, short.

Short, long, long, short.

And after a few minutes, there was a small, subtle change in Nicole’s breathing. It wasn’t much, just a tiny hitch, but it was enough to let Waverly know that Nicole was at least in some tiny way coming back from wherever she had gone.

So she took a chance.

“I’m gonna squeeze your hands now, okay, baby?” She tried to make eye contact and couldn’t, yet, but the little furrow in Nicole’s brow that Waverly had christened her ‘worry wrinkle’ appeared. “It’s okay,” Waverly reassured her, physically stopping herself from brushing that little wrinkle away as she would have under other circumstances, leery as she was of spooking her. “It’s just me. It’s me.”

All that time.

All those months.

_He was trying to help me, and now he’s dead and this is just all my fault_.

_There’s no almond milk. It’s still hard to get some things. Sorry._

_Don’t come at me about it, okay, Wynonna? I know I let everybody down_.

Waverly wasn’t sure Nicole had realized she’d heard her say that last thing.

She also wasn’t sure Nicole was aware of how much the first two said about who she was as a person.

But Waverly knew every bit of Nicole.

Every inch.

Every millimeter.

It didn’t matter that none of what had happened was in any way Nicole’s failure – not the Garden taking Waverly, not her broken leg, or the fact that Wynonna had gone into the Garden alone, or Nedley turning into a puffball monster – none of it.

Nicole had still spent those eighteen months, three weeks, and four days blaming herself.

Alone except for a teenager she felt she had to be strong for.

With no one who could see past her walls to try and convince her otherwise.

With no one who _knew_ what that little worry wrinkle _meant_.

Because it meant that Nicole, who never offered herself any of the grace or compassion she instinctively offered others, was yelling at herself.

Excoriating herself.

Hating herself.

Waverly reached out and took Nicole’s hands.

This time, they flinched. Just a little, but it was enough.

“Come back to me, baby,” Waverly murmured. “It’s safe. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

One of Nicole’s fingers twitched under her hands, and she smiled. “That’s it, sweetie. Come back. It’s okay.”

She lifted one of Nicole’s hands to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her hand. “I love you,” she whispered. “I know it took me forever to say that out loud but now you’re gonna get so tired of hearing it from me. I love you,” she repeated, kissing Nicole’s index finger. “I love you.” Her middle finger. “I love you.” She kissed her ring finger, and then Nicole’s other hand clenched tight around hers. She smiled, then kissed Nicole’s pinkie finger. “I _love_ you, Nicole Haught.”

She thought she’d broken through, but after a moment, both of Nicole’s hands went slack in hers and her eyes just kept staring ahead.

Undaunted, Waverly put Nicole’s hands back in her lap.

“Okay, sweetie, let’s try this,” she said. “Five things you can see.” She glanced in the direction Nicole was staring. “The wall. I just noticed you painted over the patches from that day I got shot.” She had to fight tears at the thought – every day, she found another small thing Nicole had done over those eighteen months to not only safeguard but improve the Homestead. The safety enhancements were obvious, but Waverly had found patched drywall, new paint, and even cleaned and oiled hinges in the doors. She focused back on Nicole. “The flowers Rachel put in the vase this morning.” She pretended not to see Rachel perk up at this recognition. “The fireplace. The mantel. Me.”

Another twitch of Nicole’s fingers.

“That’s it, baby,” Waverly breathed. “Four things you can touch.” She rested her hands on top of Nicole’s. “Your pants,” she said. “They’re nice and smooth, right? Your kneecap, with that little bump from when you fell off that mountain in California. Remember when you told me about that? The chair, which we’re pretending isn’t upholstered in leather.” She squeezed Nicole’s hands. “Me,” she said, saving herself for last again in the hope that it would stick in Nicole’s mind. “Holding you.”

Nicole blinked. Slowly, and without making eye contact, but she blinked.

“Yes. Yes, Nicole, that’s it…come on. Come back to me. You can do it.” She waited a second, then pressed on. “Okay, three things you can hear.” She paused, listening carefully. “A few geese out there, right? And the wind blowing. And me talking to you. I’m really here. I promise you’re not imagining that.”

Nicole’s breathing hitched.

“Two things you can smell,” Waverly murmured. “Burnt toast. You’d think all this time after you bought us that toaster that Wynonna would remember we have it and stop trying to make toast on the griddle. And my perfume. Remember? You bought it for me because you looked up scents that go with vanilla.”

Nicole blinked again and slowly, so slowly, her eyes tracked to Waverly’s.

The blank look faded and just for a moment, Waverly wished it hadn’t, because the agony and chaos in those eyes took her breath away.

It was happening less the longer they’d been back, true, and, yes, there were moments of true joy that had felt impossible the morning after their reunion when Nicole had been skittish and closed off and apologizing over almond milk, but this pain – this trauma – it was now a part of who she was.

And Waverly could hardly stand it.

She hated the Garden and Bulshar and Eve and, more than anything, she _hated_ whoever or whatever the hell had made time run so differently there.

And she hated herself – for giving into her exhaustion and letting the Garden take her without a fight in the first place. For given even a second’s consideration to sitting on – to _staying_ on – that damned stone monstrosity of a throne.

But, of course, there was nothing she could do now to change any of it, so all she could do was everything she _could_ do to help Nicole heal.

“Sweetie,” she said, leaning in close in what she hoped would be an obvious invitation. “One thing you can taste.”

“You,” Nicole rasped. “Please. Waverly. I need…to…know…you’re real.”

“Come here,” Waverly breathed, sliding off her chair in one smooth motion and pulling Nicole down off her own chair at the same time so they ended up on the floor together in one big tangle of arms and legs. One hand came up of its own accord to bury itself in Nicole’s hair as she pulled Nicole towards her for a kiss.

_You taste like my Waverly again_.

It started as something a little more serious than a joke but more lighthearted than an actual _strategy_.

But somewhere along the line, it had become their quick, easy check.

In a world filled with chaos and demons and shapeshifters, it was the one way they could be _sure_ of who the other was.

Nicole’s body softened in relief as soon as their lips met but after a moment she pulled back, looking around in confusion. “What…?”

Waverly soothingly ran her fingers through Nicole’s hair. “It’s okay, baby.” She lifted her other hand to gently caress Nicole’s cheek. “You just…got lost in your head for a little bit there.”

“It…it’s sunset.”

“Yeah.”

“I…it was…four thirty?”

“It’s okay.”

“But…dinner. I was supposed to be making – ”

Waverly shook her head. “Sweetie, please don’t worry about dinner. I’m just glad you came – ” She cut herself off, only to sigh when Nicole managed a droll look. “Okay, I’m glad you came back to me.” Nicole chuckled darkly. “God, I’m sorry, honey. I was trying to make you feel better and I just made you feel worse.”

“No,” Nicole began to protest, but her eyes were slowly starting to lose their sparkle again.

Waverly instinctively pulled her closer, wrapping her arms around Nicole as tightly as she could, trying to ground her. “Want me to text Wynonna? Maybe she can bring something for dinner.”

Nicole didn’t answer immediately, her body sinking more fully into Waverly’s as her arms snaked around her waist, reassuring her that Nicole was still present in the moment with her.

“Rachel came to get me, you know?” Waverly said.

“Mm?”

“She’s worried about you.”

“She’s been through a lot,” Nicole said quietly. “Lost her mom. Lived alone in a zombie movie. And then a year and a half of…monsters.”

Waverly pulled Nicole closer still and kissed her temple. “She’s lucky you found her.”

Nicole scoffed. “Not sure she’d agree.”

“Baby,” Waverly said, slightly scolding.

“Sorry,” Nicole sighed.

Waverly gently scratched the back of her neck. “Nice deflection, by the way,” she said with a loving smile that took any sting out of the implied criticism. “I won’t push…but I do think you might feel better if you could talk about it. Any of it. Even a little bit?”

“I just – ”

“You didn’t.”

“How did you know what I was gonna – ?”

“Nicole. You’ve been telling all of us, any chance you get, about how badly you failed while we were gone. But, sweetie-pie, you _didn’t_. You’re here. That’s all I care about. Okay?” Nicole sighed and leaned against her, and Waverly kissed her temple. “We could start with…thank you for my vegan birthday cupcake-pancakes.”

That startled a quick laugh out of her but then her face shut down and Waverly instantly pulled her closer. “God, I’m so sorry. I should have started with something less…” She shrugged. “…fraught?”

Nicole sucked in an uneven breath. “No, it’s…. You couldn’t have known, but…that’s the day I broke,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “It was the second birthday you missed and I just…I tried to sleep that night and the bed was so big and so…empty. So I…I got up the next day and…drove to the Swamp Witch.” She looked up at Waverly, her eyes brimming with rare tears. “I didn’t know she was a Clanton, but – ” Another gasped breath. “But I’m not sure I can swear to you I wouldn’t have gone to her anyway.”

“Oh, baby,” Waverly breathed, pulling Nicole close and wrapping her body around her at every point she could – arms and legs and torso – trying with everything she had to convince Nicole that she was there. That she was there and that she would stay. “It’s okay.”

_Whatever it takes._

_You make a promise to an Iron Witch, it’s binding. I get whatever I want._

_You have my word._

After a moment, Nicole swallowed hard and pulled away a little. “I’m sorry, Waverly.”

“Nicole,” she interrupted firmly, “stop. I mean it. I _like_ taking care of you. I mean…for your sake, I wish I was taking care of a hang nail, but….”

“It’s just – that’s all you’ve been doing since you came back and I – ” She sighed. “I don’t deserve it,” she said, with a brittleness that said she had meant to be harsh, but instead it just came out pleading and exhausted when she added, “You know I’m right.”

“I won’t say you’re wrong,” Waverly said. “But you are,” she whispered into Nicole’s ear, which wrung a tired laugh out of her. “I would choose you. Every time.”

“Why?” Nicole asked, all the more heartbreaking for its matter-of-factness.

_I’d call it ‘Haught Topics.’_

_Why would I need that?_

Waverly smiled, quiet and gentle. “Because you’re the love of my life, you dork.” She was rewarded with some of the shadows in Nicole’s eyes receding to the edges. They were never gone – not entirely, at least not yet – but at least it was something. “I’m starting to think you’re the love of _all_ of my lives.”

Nicole’s breath hitched at that, and she glanced up with disbelieving wonder in her eyes – an expression that Waverly recognized from the inside out as the same one she had worn so long ago now when Nicole had first promised to stand by her side for as long as she was wanted.

And now, Waverly understood, also from the inside, the complex look of sorrow and joy that she’d seen in Nicole’s eyes that afternoon. Because as much as it warmed her heart to see that wonder, seeing the doubt beneath it was equally heartbreaking.

Nicole sighed. “I’m sorry. This is supposed to be a happy time.”

“Hey, we both know life is more complicated than that.”

“I know. It’s just – I know I’m not the same person I was before you went into the Garden and sometimes – ”

“Neither am I,” Waverly said. “But life would be pretty boring if we never changed, wouldn’t it?” She caressed Nicole’s cheek. “I do wish I could take away your pain, though,” she said. “I’d even settle for…carrying some of it for you but I can’t even do that.” She paused. “But I can carry it _with_ you.”

Nicole nodded, accepting that with a little smile. Then she looked around in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “How do we always end up on the floor?” she asked with a half-hearted laugh that was only slightly marred by a sniffle.

Waverly smiled, relieved that the moment had passed, though she was equally grateful that Nicole was – however slowly – beginning to open up a little about what she had endured while they were gone. “I don’t know. Especially when we’ve got that nice soft bed upstairs. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you fixed the stained wallpaper too,” she added, giving Nicole a quick peck on the cheek.

Nicole raised an eyebrow. “What about dinner?”

With a wicked grin, Waverly said, “There’s always tacos.”

“Oh, are you _kidding_ me?!”

They both jumped; Waverly because she had forgotten Rachel was there and Nicole because she hadn’t known in the first place. Then they began to laugh. When she could speak, Waverly stood up and offered a hand to Nicole as she said to Rachel, “Like I told, Nicole, just text Wynonna and ask her to bring something.”

Rachel mumbled something unintelligible under her breath as she stomped out towards the porch.

Waverly took Nicole’s hand. “We don’t _have_ to use that big, soft bed,” she said with a smile. “But maybe we at least take this upstairs?”

“What about dinner?”

“Thought I just promised you tacos.”

“And if _I_ promise I’ll text Wynonna about dinner, would you two _please_ go upstairs? And _shut your door_ this time!” Rachel called, exasperated, from just outside the front door.

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm sure it's no secret at this point that I'm a sucker for hurt/comfort stories. I actually tried to write something schmoopy and then I got very nervous about the US election and wrote this instead. Oops? I'm working on schmoopy now.
> 
> I didn't realize until I wrote that bit that one thing I've found really fascinating about S4 of the show is the sort of role reversal between Waverly and Nicole -- Waverly is more sure of herself and coming into her own power, and Nicole is the one who can't quite believe that Waverly will *STAY*. I hope they explore that dynamic more, even with the apparent time-shift COVID accidentally baked into the second half of S4.
> 
> The working title of this story (because titles are HARD, y'all) was "Dissociation." I had never heard the term, at least not in relation to trauma and PTSD, until reading some fans' reactions to 403, so I did some research before writing this and accidentally discovered that I may have experienced it (or, rather, that I experienced something that could have been dissociation) after my dad died -- and then his grandma something like 19 days later -- when I was a senior in college. The description of the world looking like a video with its audio out of sync came from that experience. The 5-4-3-2-1 strategy came from that research as well, but this is absolutely not an area of expertise, so I hope I did the experience justice (though, that's why only a brief part of this was from Nicole's perspective).


End file.
